More (More) Medical Whump
CW: More graphic or upsetting discription then usual, munschasen, medical nitty-gritty stuff, violence, non-con touching, dehumanization, creepy whumper
A whumper who knows what they’re doing, or is familiar with the medical equipment/process. Either they’re a doctor themselves, or gained the know-how one way or another in the past. (I use this whumper so often in my stories)
Whumpee being strapped down on a table, bed, or chair so whumper could do their work easier
Measuring whumpee. Whumper pulling as tightly as they want, even around whumpee’s neck. Why are they measuring? Whumpee could only fear or anticipate what is in store
Tracing sharp medical equipment along whumpee’s skin, or threatening whumpee with it
Forcing whumpee to pick an injection, refusing to tell them the side effects. Is it a sedative, paralyzer, pain inducing?
Whumper looming over whumpee before they lose consciousness, mumbling to them whatever they’re planning
Whumper’s identity hidden from whumpee via masks and more
Whumpee being munschasened
Whumper disguising themselves as Whumpee’s caretaker
Researching whumpee, checking their vitals constantly, watching their every move, and monitoring their behavior
Drawing whumpee’s blood to analyze it
Dehumanizing whumpee as a marvel, an experiment, something to research
Telling whumpee about all their medical imperfections, ingraining dysphoria into their minds
Obessing over whumpee’s behaviors. Whumper is writing everything down. Whumpee can’t help it, they want to know what whumper’s pen is constantly etching about. It’s driving them insane. Every action prompts another line. Whumpee is growing anxious about doing anything.
Whumper cautiously lifting a lethargic whumpee (Bridal Carry?!), moving their arms for them carefully, meeting their necessities medical or not. Whumpee can’t tell if they can trust them or not.
99 notes
·
View notes
𝐀 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐬 - 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞: 𝐑𝐞𝐝
Hank J. Wimbledon x gn!Reader
𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.7K (What the hell man?? Where did these words come from. I promise this was only supposed to be a snippet to the Yan!Hank I’m working on!!)
MadCom Masterlist | AO3 | 🅱️laylist
𝐓𝐖 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐖: Non-cannon Hank bc I said so 🤌🏽🤌🏽Yandere themes, Obsessive behaviour, some psychological horror, serious gore, graphic descriptions of injuries, injury marks during work, mental asylum settings, cursing (sorry can’t help myself) a brief description of mental disorders and slight manipulation at the end - please be mindful of the triggering content.
𝐀/𝐍: Okay, so I’ve got the Yandere themes from @saltymongoose head cannons here and here. (Look salty, I would submit this to you but I have no idea how submissions work) Of course, reader isn’t a Player! But a Doctor! I put my own twist to it so it will match the story line. Yeah it gonna be a little bit more… violent than wholesome. Also you don’t understand the amount of research I had to do to perfect this 😭 watching a documentary of inside a psychiatric hospital and read a handful of articles. Also after watching season 4 of Stranger Things I kinda grew an interest on asylum AU’s - I’ll give you a small spoiler for this fic quoted from the show ‘what have you done?’😟 (also want to thank @deimosed for those sweet words from my last Hank fic)
𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: After working your way up your career ladder, you’re excited to be offered a place in Nevada’s notorious psychiatric hospital as a full time psychiatrist. This is a massive opportunity for your career. But things aren’t so glamorous and rewarding as it seems when you start to discover the inside works of the hospital with their dark and twisted system to ensure everyone, especially the employees, abides by their extensive rules and policies. You start to learn that the hospital's high reputation may not be so organic. Meanwhile, you develop a secret admirer amongst one of your patients who will do anything to be alone with you and to have you for himself (and maybe save you) - even if it means breaking a few rules.
USE HEADPHONES FOR THE AUDIO.
I’d let these people bleed out if you told me you liked the colour red.
The janitors must’ve used some strong cleaning products again. Waking up to the bitter-sweet smell of disinfectant is not really the ideal way to start your morning. After a few inhales, it starts to get into your head and makes you nauseous. It’s not a scent that you would call ‘homely’.
Fortunately, it does fade as the day goes by but the pungent smell of old piss quickly replaces it by late afternoon and then the vicious cycle starts again in the morning. The sickeningly sweet smell really reflects the cryptic ambiance of the building.
But for patients like Hank, who has stayed in the hospital for a while, the stench doesn’t bother him. It does start to grow in you to the point where you forget what fresh clean air smells like.
Hank takes another glance at the clock for the umpteenth time in the last couple of hours. It was coming up to that time. He can feel his heart accelerating as the seconds pass by. Since he’s all ready, he can sit and watch in front of the clock until finally hearing those footsteps echo in the hall, getting louder as they step closer. Two nurses reach his room, both in their scrubs and ready to escort him out.
“The doctor wants to see you Hank, let’s get going,” the taller of the two says.
They both lead him to another room. This isn’t anything new to Hank. Having to go to the checkup rooms regularly to see the doctor was part of the routine. More footsteps could be heard and immediately he knew it was you. He has your footfall rhythm memorised. Even outside the checkup sessions, he can easily recognise you walking from a distance away. He watches as you make your way in - a warmth reflecting from your eyes with a smile.
“Nice seeing you early today Hank, did you sleep well?” Your voice is amplified over everyone else’s; it’s sweet, hypnotic and endearing to the ears.
All of his senses heighten as soon as you’re near (or as he watches you from afar). As you step closer towards the seat opposite him, he catches the familiar soapy aloe vera scent from you. It’s refreshing and it's definitely more pleasant than the sterile smell of the hospital. Whenever his session ends, he feels like he can still just capture the scent lingering a while longer the minute you leave the room. You’re just so fascinating with how you approach things and how you approach him.
You start to write on your clipboard the date and his name. Hanks eyes are stuck staring at your hand holding the pen. He secretly wishes that you would accidentally misplace or leave your pen one day in the room before you go to your next patient so he could keep it for himself - something that you touched and held onto everyday and probably has your sweat and fibre on it. But unfortunately, due to previous cases of patients using pens as weapons and poking peoples eyes out, doctors and anyone else using a pen has to make sure they keep them safe with them.
“Your mood has definitely improved in the last few weeks Hank, I’m pleased to see that,” your praise causes a wave of euphoria to surge through him. He wants all of your praises. All of the sweet words that come out of your lips. He knows he wants you for himself and wishes the nurses weren’t in the room with the two of you so he can be all alone with you.
The check up comes to an end and you finish it off with “I’ll see you next week Hank,” before you leave to go off to your next patient while he stays in the room with the two nurses beside him a little while longer. It’s easy to forget that he’s not the only one you’re caring for especially with how he’s so engrossed in the moment.
But the thought of you looking after other people besides him, giving them your attention and your time to them doesn’t sit right with him. Actually it enrages him. They don’t deserve you. You need someone who you can feel safer with. These people don’t have the facilities for that. The more he thinks about it, the harder his fist clenched to the point where the knuckles were turning white. Fortunately, he’s able to keep this heated anger in control quickly since he’s still on the fucking medication that slowing his brain .
But Hank is not going to allow their luck to run any longer with you…
Working in a mental hospital isn’t something that you nor your colleagues discuss outside of work. As far as people outside are aware, you’re just a doctor working and giving care in a private hospital. Confidentiality is strictly enforced - anything that happens in the building stays within the four walls.
You have to wear full sleeves to hide the bruises that you get from handling some of the violent patients. The nurses always have it worse since they do interact with them more but that doesn’t mean yours aren’t visible enough to raise some concerns. You do try to scrutinise the job and see the rewarding sides to it though, despite how exhausted you are already.
That burnt soreness on your tongue is still there from the hot coffee you finished just earlier and what's worse is that after rummaging through your work bag, you found that you’re fresh out of breath mints. Well shit then - you’re stuck with having coffee breath until your tight lunch break. Coffee breath was the last thing that you’re concerned about though, with the busy schedule you have today. You just completed the inpatient care and are now providing care to the outpatient department.
Your clipboard is under your tight grip as you’re filling in the details. Sitting opposite you is Peter, your last morning patient. He has a skinny and pale frame and just like most of the other patients, he has a buzz-cut hairstyle.
“So, it’s been a good month since I prescribed you your new medications for your schizophrenia. How has it been affecting you?” Your eyes are still glued to your clipboard.
“It’s been better than the old one, I don’t have any severe side effects,” Peter replied, possessing a strong southern accent.
“That’s perfect, but I will still need the nurses to check your blood sugar levels from time to time. High cholesterol is one of the side effects of this new medication,” You scrape your tongue with your front teeth briefly, trying to soothe the soreness as you speak while mentally reminding yourself to push through and that this is your last patient before your break.
Out of nowhere, the sound of someone screaming could be heard coming from a few rooms away. It's normal to hear some patients yelling occasionally whether it’s them resisting medication or their mood swings going haywire. After all, one of the biggest conflicts between patients and doctors is medication. But this doesn’t sound like someone was resisting. None of the screaming that you’ve heard sounded like this. This is more shrilling, you can almost hear the fear in their cry before it cuts off with crunching sounds and gargling despair and then it stops.
“Doc…?” Peter’s voice shakes as he speaks. He's now starting to hyperventilate - a bad sign that his anxiety is accumulating.
“Everything will be okay, I’m sure the nurses got it handled,” in truth, you were pretty tense yourself but you had to keep your composure and stay calm, for the sake of your patient.
One of the many vital rules that is heavily emphasised is that healthcare staff must leave their patient in a healthy and calm condition. Anything else is a sign of inadequate treatment and can result in a strike. You’re already on your first one and the punishment you faced was just about bearable. You can’t afford another strike on your record - the week has barely started. Really, that should encourage you to prioritise your patient but you can’t help but wonder what was going on out there. It doesn't help when you hear more screaming, this time it’s a masculine voice and you could just about make out what he’s saying before it stops.
“Please don’t hurt me! Where are the fucking nurses ah-!” There’s a painful howl before it cuts off silent again. You and Peter stay quiet waiting for any more disturbing sounds but the silent prologue for a full minute.
“Will it make you feel better if I take a look outside?” He nods, still staying quiet from shock. You’re not going to leave the room since you can’t leave Peter unattended, they’re watching what you’re doing in a control room through a monitor, so you just stick your head out the door and scan the wide hallways. Of course, you can’t see anything because it was coming from one of the other rooms.
The temptation of just leaving the room is drilling in your head. For God's sake, why would they be focusing on you and watching you do your job when they should be focusing on whatever the hell was going on out there?
It seems like they read your mind because the emergency alarms start blaring through the perpetual halls with red lights flashing. You’ve never heard the emergency alarms go off, not until today at least and that was enough for you to exit the patient room. You can hear Peter calling after you, asking where you’re going or what you’re going to do. You don’t really know what you're doing, you're just following these intrusive thoughts, jogging lightly and just hoping it’s not the worst. Whatever the worst may be.
There's more uncontrollable screams that continue to echo through the halls sounding more distant as it bounces off the walls but with still the same level of fear etched in their voices if not, more. The ringing of the alarm is still going off, sounding more urgent and louder. Your head starts to spin as you replay that one sentence in your head…
I’m sure the nurses got it handled.
You stop for a moment and look back at how far you’ve gone - Peter's room feels like miles away now when you’ve only walked a few metres. You have a sense of discomfort that seems to erupt inside you. A strong feeling that something was going to happen. Before you could turn back to continue you felt something hit the back of your head causing a sharp pain shooting through your skull. Your body collapses forward and slowly and you feel your consciousness slip away and vision fade into blackness.
There’s a sharp inhale before you feel your senses coming back to you slowly as you open your eyes. It took you a moment to gather yourself together and remember your surroundings. There’s no more screaming or alarms - nothing but the sound of your pulse hammering in your ears. The halls are still flashing red. Not good. Your vision is still a little blurry and your heads throbbing like mad. Stupid concussion. You still don’t know who the fuck just slammed the back of your head like that.
What’s worse is you don’t know how long you were knocked out but if it’s this quiet, something is definitely not right. What happened to Peter? Shit. With extra precaution and making sure you don’t collapse again, you lift yourself up from the floor and make your way to Peter’s room with wobbly steps. The room isn’t that far for you but your body is still weak and moving painstakingly slow. When you reach his room, you almost throw up at the sight inside.
Someone got to him before you could because now he’s on the floor with his mouth stretched open so wide, the cheeks are torn out. Despite Peter’s thin face and prominent cheekbones, you could still see the fleshy meat from his cheeks that had been plumped out. There was no way someone could do this with their bare hands. Some sick person must’ve used a metal instrument to rip this poor man’s face.
His arms and legs were completely popped out of their joints and dislocated. The crunching you heard earlier must’ve been the sound of bones joints snapping from elsewhere. His gown is now stained with blood from his mouth. You’ve seen a lot of gory scenes at your job but nothing like this. You can’t stomach the sight any longer so you leave feeling utterly repulsed and a little guilty that you can’t do anything. Why did you have to leave him alone? You were hoping the image would leave your mind but it’s already locked in making you feel queasy.
You don’t know where you’re going since there’s no lead and the screaming has stopped. There’s a feeling of emptiness and torment hovering around you as you stiffly walk through the halls, closing in on one of the ward rooms - you weren’t prepared to see inside so when you catch a glimpse of one of the patients on the floor, the squeamish feeling inside your stomach returns.
Inside you could see a few more patients on the floor, arms and legs dislocated as well as their heads being twisted until their necks were snapped. Their faces aren’t mutilated like Peter’s but you could see some of them have holes on the side of their heads where their ears used to be and are now replaced with a crimson pool that dripped down their faces and on the floor. Clearly whoever did this, wanted to get the job done fast.
Each room you pass, you see more and more limp forms littering the floor, not only patients but the healthcare workers there as well - doctors and nurses. It’s all out of control. There are bloody hands smeared and printed on the wall too. The more you continue to walk, the more alone you feel knowing that the people you care for and work with are gone. You feel like you’re surrounded by ghosts - spirits just floating around you. You push your way through the double door and make your way to the main reception, now fully bracing yourself for the worst yet to come.
Hank can feel the heated vexation across his face and the blood rushing in his ears as he gawks down at the last dead body with pride. He was sure that he managed to wipe out everyone in this poor excuse of a hospital. It’s not like it’s a big building so surely after 2 hours, he can wrap it up and call it a job well done. But it’s not complete until he finds you again. Find your sleeping form that is, since he had to knock the fucking day lights out of you. You don’t deserve to see what he did - he’s hoping you’re still knocked out before he retrieves you.
Before he could turn around, there’s the sound of the heavy double doors squeaking as you pushed your way with aggression. The hostility quickly melts away from you as you stare intensely at him, frozen in place from shock. Your mouth starts to quiver and Hank notices a few tears just spilling from your eyes.
“What have you done?!” Your voice breaks with distress. Hank steps a little closer, the metal pipe slips out from his bloody hands as he walks towards you. You’re always easy on the eye but now the glow that would always radiate from you is flushed out. The eye bags under your eyes is more visible now and the rims of it are now red from your salty tears. You look raw and Hank finds himself absolutely adoring this state of you. Probably more now than ever.
He still doesn’t understand why you’re so upset though. Why do you cry for these people? You didn’t mean anything to them. They just used you as a product for your intelligence and for their advantage. Of course you don’t understand that now but one day, you will be grateful for what he has done.
And that’s a promise.
Dividers by @maysdigitalarts
I usually rely on Grammerly to check my spellings and grammar but I’m literally typing this on my phone as I speak so there might be some errors.
278 notes
·
View notes